The Mockingjay's Feather
by 11GreenEyes11
Summary: Emera grew up in District 12 around the same time as Katniss. This isn't a twisting of the plot but an addition. It explains her story through the games and the rebellion. Gale wasn't the only guy in town who had radical ideas and secrets. Katniss, Gale, and Peeta are all in it, but it's more of the effects they have on my characters. I don't want to change the originals. R&R!
1. My Purpose

Chapter 1

No sunlight or crisp morning air greeted me today as I rose out of bed. I had drawn the dusty curtains across the window the night before so I could sleep in (if 7:00 AM can be considered sleeping in). I decided there would be no training or running for me today so I needn't bother waking up early. Stretching my sore muscles, I stiffly made my way over to the window to see what kind of weather I'd have to bear with on this special day of the reaping.

I opened the window so as to receive the morning's delayed greeting. A fresh breeze brought in the smell of grass and coal dust (what else is new in District 12?). The smell caused my body to start waking up and a deep grumble in my stomach told me to go find something to scavenge. _It could be the last meal I have in this house._ At the age of seventeen my chances of getting picked are much higher than many of my peers'. However my chances of survival are also much higher than the rest of them too. I looked in the mirror and examined my lean and toned 5' 9" frame. Wirey would be a better term for it actually. The lack of nutrition makes it hard to build muscle. _If only there were more food I could be so much stronger._ Just what the Capitol doesn't want.

I looked back out the window again only to see a dark figure dart towards the direction of the field at the edge of town. _Katniss. Of course she would hunt no matter what day it is. _I smiled at her. She is a slight outcast at my school and not because we caused it. I say we because sometimes this is the case for other kids. No, the difference between her and the other outcasts is that she wants to be left alone. Before the mining accident when I was young I used to see her on the playground and even though I was a year ahead of her we would still play games together every now and then. Once her father died she became completely independent. Well not entirely, the only other people she really lets into her life are her hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne (a boy that's a year ahead of me at school), and her little sister, Prim. She's nice to Madge (the mayor's daughter) and although I try, she does not seem too interested in me. _Maybe she's the only one who's clever enough to realize it's all an act?_ Or most likely she just doesn't care.

The smell of toast caught ahold of my nostrils and led me downstairs to the little kitchen. There I found Pop setting slices with melted cheese onto three plates while my little four year old brother sat at our tiny square kitchen table, swinging his feet back and forth in anticipation. Both toast and cheese are rarities in this household. We used to have a goat but she died of old age. Chickens were also kept, and although they were fine in the summer due to the great availability of bugs and some grain, we found that it was increasingly difficult to take care of them in the cold winters because food is so scarce.

I remember Pop creating a set of fine knives; bread knives. He must have given them to the baker in exchange for a loaf or so of bread. He was well known for his craftsmanship in woodworking, metal working, or really anything of that nature. That's how we could trade around here in the Seam, through his skills. I've picked up some of them but experience has given him the better style.

Pop was a large man of 6' 3" and although he was of poor class he was not to be disrespected. Like almost everyone else in the Seam he had the classic grey eyes and dark brown almost soot colored hair. He was approaching forty but he still had the physique of a thirty year old despite his leg. In the mining accident he lost more than his leg; he lost his friends (one of them was Katniss's father). Many men were stuck under layers of rubble. He dug through much of it pulling out body after body, some breathing and some not. After hours of digging he moved some rubble the wrong way and as he crawled to help an older man out, a beam came down on his leg. Had it been moved right away the situation may have turned out differently, but he was down there for hours after and it was too late. It had to be amputated. But like I said he is a clever man and so he created for himself a type of mechanical leg he managed to scrap together using metal and screws. It's not perfect but it's better than relying on a pair of crutches. He can still go to work in the mines for his family. So to everyone else he's known as "Dana Perkins, the man who would give a leg for his fellow miners".

"Mornin'," I mumbled as I made my way over to the table. Saying "Good Morning" didn't quite fit the mood for today of all days. I kissed Robbie's head and tousled his soft brown hair. He looked up with his wide catlike green eyes and stared into mine. He gave me a small weak smile that revealed a couple of his missing baby teeth and then turned his concentration back to Pop who was now pouring water into three glasses.

Robbie and I share the same eyes and hair color. We were certainly are a mixture of our parents (although there are books that say that's not exactly how it works). Our Mother had strawberry blonde hair, fair freckled skin, and eyes so green that emeralds seemed worthless in comparison. We on the other hand are brunettes like our father. The difference is when I was about ten, bits of red started showing up and as I age it's becoming more prominent and I expect the same will happen to Robbie. Our eyes too are a mixture, and shift from shades of green to silver depending on our mood or health. My skin is sun-kissed and clear like my father's, with a few marks here and there, Robbie inherited mother's fair complexion with freckles that's prone to sunburn. Needless to say we look like each other but not really similar to the other blonde or dark brown/ black haired kids in the district.

Pop plopped a plate in front of me as I sat down and I could sense his tension by his rough handling of it.

"Tell me, Emera, is there a valid reason that justifies your absence at training this morning?" He asked.

"No. I only figured that I would try to enjoy last night's sleep as best as I could because after today things may be different," I explained knowing that he wouldn't accept it as a valid excuse.

"Did it ever cross your mind if you had woken up early to train this morning, like your brother did, that if things are to be different you'd be better off facing the challenges the future brought you?" he questioned.

I decided not to answer him and instead sat quietly like my brother; my brother who cannot talk. _I wish I were him right now._

Robbie's birth was a miracle and a curse all at the same time. For years I remember Mother and Pop trying to have a child. They had a plan for their children to be part of a new generation and hopes that things would change and be better for us. They were wrong, of course, but that is beside the point. There were complications; many miscarriages. I remember the first time; there was a lot of blood. I came home from school to find my mother weeping in a pool of it on the bathroom floor, her clothes were stained and she was shaking. She saw me and cleaned herself up and then hugged me like I'd never been hugged before. When Pop came home he held her and me, he didn't cry though. That's how we stayed all night. I was very young, about Robbie's age now.

Years later when Robbie was born Mother had fallen ill.

"Caron!" My father screamed as she was delivering the baby and trying to stay conscious too, "Caron stay with me! Stay with me!"

Katniss's mother was there as well, trying to help us as best as she could but it was too late. Mother was awake long enough to see Robbie but after that she collapsed and would not wake up. Robbie didn't cry at all when he came out of the womb. It wasn't natural; he just stared at us in wonder, not knowing that his mother just died. In all of the hustle he was thrust upon me while they tried to recover mother. I kept him warm in a yellow blanket and I paced in a room outside back and forth. I started to feel violence swell up in me. It was dark and firm like a bruised knee. I wanted him gone; I wanted him dead, I was angry that he had killed Mother.

I felt my arms tense up as I was holding the sleeping baby. My face had scrunched up and I could feel it getting hot. Tears welled up in my eyes and I could no longer hold them. They ran down my face and off of my chin. One landed on his forehead and he looked up at me with the biggest eyes I had ever seen. They were so green at that moment. They were just like hers and suddenly I felt shame wash over me. Mother wanted this baby to be here even if meant giving away her life. His life was her last wish and so I had to watch over him.

Pop came out. I'd never seen him cry before, not even when he pulled his friends' bodies out of the explosion the previous year. It was unsettling. I remember trying to study his face, I was scared he would feel the way I had at first and I believe he did for a split second. Something flashed across his face. He stood up straight and clenched his fists aggressively. I held Robbie in a protective way and stared right back. And then it all happened so fast; Pop flew down upon me and I tucked the baby into me and braced myself. But Pop was holding me, he wasn't going to hurt us, it was fear that I saw in his face. I felt him heave and wail in agony; he was upset he couldn't save Mother and he was afraid for this new baby.

As the weeks passed more problems arose with Robbie. His breathing was off and Katniss's mother said he had a disease called asthma. If we lived in the Capitol Robbie would have been able to get steroids and an inhaler, but living in the Seam is quite different. It's not uncommon that kids should have breathing difficulties because of the coal dust, but if an attack is serious enough it could kill a child. There were nights when Pop would hold Robbie and calmly tell him to breathe in and out. There wasn't much we could do. I remember seeing the determination in his face; he was going to give his son a fighting chance. He would train his son from a young age and strengthen the boy's lungs. Robbie would not die on his watch.

The only mystery that's never been explained is why he is so averse to speaking. He can hear fine and he has a voice (I've heard him laugh before; it's a rich laugh that warms me to my bones). Instead he came up with his own way of talking through body motions. I can understand him pretty well but Pop doesn't pick everything up and I think that's what upsets him the most. It certainly makes connecting with his son that much more difficult.

I looked over at the little boy. He stared at me and cupped his wrist in his right hand and twisted his left arm twice, "Awkward" he said, or "Uncomfortable". He didn't like being dragged into Pop's and my discussion.

Pop caught the sign, "I'm sorry Robbie, that was wrong of me. I just need you two to realize how important it is to understand everything you can about yourself. If you do not see your weaknesses and strengths other people will and they will use that to their own advantage," His silver eyes pierced me, "And I'm not just talking about people in the Games."

"Continuous effort- not strength or intelligence- is the key to unlocking our potential," He finished. We all nodded in understanding. "Winston Churchill said that".

Pop was always quoting literature and people of the past. He drills us on them. We read books of the past, it's one of the things Pop trades for the most. Some books have been passed down from generation to generation. Some have huge secrets in them, like our training methods or even books about a higher being. These were the ones the Capitol band. Years ago they were all burned. Few survived but somewhere along the line the people of my family passed them down knowing the power they possessed and that's the last thing the Capitol would want in the hands of the people.

"How's the toast Robbie?" I asked looking over at my brother who was now bouncing in his chair from what looked like sheer delight at his meal. Doing an explosive movement with his fingers he moved his hand from his mouth and then ended the movement with a thumbs-up. _Very Good _he had said.

Talking ceased after that. To be honest the toast and cheese started to churn in my stomach as I thought about the approaching events of the day. I excused myself from the table once I had finished and made my way back to my room to prepare. Fluttering sensations would arise in my chest and I pushed them aside and recounted the quotes my father would share with me each year before I would go to the reaping. It was sort of a tradition.

My first year when I was twelve was, "Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear" _Mark Twain. _I thought Pop was trying to tell me it was okay to be afraid but we cannot let the fear overtake us and that will gives us courage. I repeated the words in my head over and over again until I felt my breath even out a little more.

The second year at age thirteen he told me "What is true of the individual will be tomorrow true of the whole nation if individuals will but refuse to lose heart and hope" _Mahatma Gandhi._ At that age when he told me this I thought he meant he didn't want me to give up, because if I did then everyone here would stop rooting for me. Being older now I've started to see a trend in all of his quotes and I believe Pop thinks there's something much bigger happening here with the Games. I recalled the rest of the quotes.

"If children have the ability to ignore all odds and percentages, then maybe we can all learn from them. When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options… give up, or fight like hell." _Lance Armstrong, _a quote he found on a scrap of glossy thin paper in the Seam. It was to be taken with the rest of paper of the same material and burned for heat. At age fourteen I thought he was telling me to remember the kids of the past who had won; the ones who weren't in the career packs. After all I was now a teenager and so I didn't see myself as a child anymore so therefore he must have been talking to me and telling me to learn from these "children".

Age fifteen: "We are not animals. We are not a product of what has happened to us in our past. We have the power of choice" _Stephen Covey_.

Age sixteen: "Every mind must make its choice between truth and repose. It cannot have both" _Ralph Waldo Emerson._

I ran all of the quotes through my head over and over again and forced myself to finally see what I was afraid Pop was teaching Robbie and I all of these years. _If chosen for these games Pop wants us to win, but more importantly he wants us to make a statement. He wants to start a…_ I paused and forced myself to get to the conclusion. _He wants to start a revolution._

Ever since I was able to read Pop had given me book after book about the past. Some were similar to the books we had at school only they went deeper. They revealed why we ended up the way we are now, where nuclear weapons came from, conflicting government beliefs, and wars, so many wars. They spoke of wars far before our time. Horrors of the past such as sending millions of people to camps and slaughtering them based upon their beliefs. What were nightmares at that time is reality now. The world was appalled that people could be oppressed in such a way, that children would be forced to work, or would starve, be beaten, experimented on, and more. I had always wondered if these nations of the past would come and fight for us if they had still existed today.

We read science books too and fiction. I know about chemical reactions and how plants and animals live. I've practiced higher mathematics, more than what they've taught us in school which is basic algebra. Who knew that mathematics could explain some of the physical part of our world? Like falling and shooting an arrow, or spinning a wheel, even how we hear or see? It's quite remarkable. Of course Robbie and I are forbidden to let on we know more than what school has taught us.

"Knowledge is a great weapon," Pop once said, "if others found out that we had it, we would become a great threat to them."

"I feel like our training is more threatening than a few facts," I threw back when I was thirteen, back when I thought I knew everything, "We can fight like no other person! We know weak points and how to move like lightning!"

I showed off a few moves. It was somewhat true. Out of all of the books we owned one of the coolest and oldest was one that explained the techniques of Martial arts. It was homemade and compiled of diagrams. Its origin traced back to the time of what was in America's history, the second world war. After the war our ancestor was placed at a military spot in Okinawa, Japan. Here he started learning a method called Karate. He started this book and wrote down everything he could. He taught it to his children who taught it to their children. As time went on different generations learned different forms of martial arts such as jujutsu kung-fu and more. Our training has blended many of these methods together. Like I said before, books like these were burned and their practices forbidden. The only ones who knew how to really fight were those trained by the Capitol.

I remembered he shook his head in a disappointed way. "No, that is but a part of your training. Any person can physically wound you and leave you unable to fight. But ideas that are strong live on even after a person is left handicapped or dead. You must understand, Emera, everything physical deteriorates with time, but an idea can be immortal."

And that's what Pop sees the Games as an opportunity for. So far we've been taught in the underground; living in secret with our weapons just waiting for the right chance. Every year the Games end in the same way and he becomes more and more frustrated. Every year after, Robbie's and my training becomes more and more intense. Grant it, Robbie is starting out where I did as far as the physical training and it is more difficult for him in that aspect, but he's different. He can see and understand something far beyond his classmates. But I'm old enough to go into the Games and he's not. _I'm supposed to start a fire._

There it is; the thick feeling of my heart sliding into my throat. I feel it resting there, suffocating me. Could I do that? Will I do it? If the time comes, if I'm chosen can I be the person I've been trained to be? My palms started to sweat and I couldn't feel my feet. If I'm picked today every decision I make won't just be to survive, it will be to do the right thing. In the heat of the moment I know fight or flight will kick in but will I be able to make a decision that will say which is the right to do considering the situation?

It is time to have a talk with Pop.


	2. Special

Chapter 2

I slipped on a pale green polyester dress. The lining was a smooth light satin and on top was a pale green fabric that my mother once called "chiffon". This was one of my mother's favorite dresses that she hardly ever wore. It was sleeveless and there were thick straps that covered up most of my shoulders and revealed some of my collarbone. It was modest in that it dipped low enough so that no cleavage would show. It cinched just above the belly button and hung somewhat loose over the cinch, like a correctly fitting shirt does when tucked into the pants. And then from there it hung loose, the chiffon slightly longer than the satin lining. The back dipped to just below my shoulder blades and the fabric crisscrossed over them. It was simple, but elegant.

I did my hair in a simple elegant fashion. I had two small braids running down the sides of my head tucked behind my ears. They ended up in a low bun where the braids then wrapped around the bottom of it. Doing my hair seemed to calm my nerves a bit and steadied my hands. I found the silver necklace my father had made me (the chain had come from a necklace that had previously been broken). The pendant was small, about the size of my thumbnail. It was a braided silver loop that contained silver and copper leaves wrapped around the bottom. Jumping through the loop was a tiny silver horse charm that my father had found and traded for at the Seam.

Sadly horses are not around today at least in human care. Many were killed during the disasters and wars, and the few that survived ran off to the wild. Whether they still exist today or not is unknown. From what I read in books though they made faithful companions. It goes to show how we've manipulated other creatures and drawn them into our squabbles. We took a creature that was a flight animal and forced it to do the thing its instincts tell it not to do; run into the danger. They've learned to charge and withstand the loud noises of bombings, something truly remarkable.

I finished getting ready and made my way down the stairs. I found Pop in the living room where he sat reading an old leather-bound book. A book he said that was, "even more threatening than any nuclear weapon known to man". I've seen him reading it several times. In fact I know he's read it through from start to end before, but he says that "the messages in it are ones that should always be studied." And when I asked if I could read it sometime he smiled and said to me, "When you're ready you will". All he has told me about it is that there are laws created before man ever set foot on this earth and when violated these laws will cause a force to be set upon us so strong that even the strongest army cannot withstand it.

"This book has the greatest secret to survival. The greatest weapon we can use to destroy our enemies is in it," he had told me when I was very young.

"What is that Pop?" I had asked.

"Love," and that was all he ever said. But how can love destroy someone? The only way I've seen it destroy someone is to get them to do what you want like some of the mean well to do girls do to the Seam boys. They have them trailing after them like little puppy dogs. But that's not love, it's manipulation.

So here he was yet again greedily eating up the pages trying to pick up what he might have missed before.

"Pop," I felt my voice shake slightly.

He peered over the top of the book, surprised to see me standing there and ready so soon.

"Pop," I said again, this time my voice clearly weak. I grew hot at how weak I sounded. "There's something we need to discuss. It's about Robbie and me and the Hunger Games."

I had his full attention, he said nothing but let me go on so he could see and assess where I was going with this.

"All of these years you've been training us, I thought were just so that we could be ready for the Games, like the Careers. I assumed you wanted it quiet because what you did… are doing is illegal. I always just assumed that reading the books would make us smart maybe like those from district three."

"But then it never made sense as to why we had to study history so well. Why you stressed certain literature and political figures upon us-"

"Emera," He said interrupting me, "We should continue this conversation elsewhere." He glanced around warily. There is no one around but his nervousness made me realize that what I am getting at is right.

We headed to the hallway behind the stairwell. He pried open a block of floorboards that had all been cleverly attached to each other and in fact are a trap door; something that goes unnoticed to everyone who's ever been in our house. A set of stairs leads down to the basement. I let my eyes adjust to the dark as I made my way down first and he slowly shut the door behind him. We lit up the candles that encircled the basement. Mats covered the floor, sticks and unique weapons crafted by my father lined the wall. In boxes off to the side were precious books; illegal materials well hidden from unwanted eyes. Here is where much of the training (besides running occurred).

Many lectures are given in the basement. Moral lectures, lectures of the old worlds, ones of philosophy and war are all given here away from curious ears. It is the room of secrets which Robbie and I relish in. Our family could share it, and nobody, not even the peace keepers would ever know it is here.

In this secret room is where Robbie and I learn how to block attackers and kick them. Here we learn how to take everyday items and make them deadly. Here is where I learned how to escape from a chair if ever I am tied to one, how I can use it as a weapon or a shield. I can defend myself if my legs or hands are bound to each other, a wall, or another person. The best lesson we had was when Robbie and I were prisoners together (our hands were chained together) and we used one another to fight. Pop was quite pleased with how well we could work with each other despite our weaknesses and age difference. Robbie would listen to everything I said and I could understand his signs unlike everyone else.

Pop turned to me after lighting the last candle, his facial features became much stronger in this lighting, much more threatening.

"Continue," he urged.

"Pop what I'm trying to ask you is, this whole time you've trained Robbie and I, is it so that if ever our names were drawn, we would have a fighting chance at winning the Hunger Games, for our own survival's sake. Or…" I looked at his face to see if he understood what I was saying but it remained a slate.

"Or is there something greater? Pop if I'm picked today am I to go into the Games defying not the other tributes, but the Capitol? Am I to play by not the normal rules, but ones that stress all of the ideas these 'great men' you quote, Lincoln, Roosevelt, or Martin Luther King Jr., regardless of whether the situation I'm in will leave me dead or alive?" I asked tears swelling up in my eyes. I'm not even sure if I want to hear the answer.

The silence between us is never ending. I imagine he's trying to come up with some greatly worded and answer.

After an eternity more he answers, "Yes." And that is all that is said after a few seconds. I expect him to continue but he doesn't.

"So if it comes down to it. If I'm faced with say, a little girl of eleven years old, who is wounded and crying and it's just the two of us and her death means that I can go home I'm not to kill her, and if the game makers decide to release Hell upon us both I will do everything that's possible to save her?" I asked, my pitch rising.

"Yes" was the answer I got back.

"And that's supposed to _prove_ something?" I asked incredulous, "You really think that my death, or actions, in the Games will change our country? Snow won't be threatened by one girl," I said with anger now creeping into my voice.

"I do not know, but I hope. You must have faith that the right thing will happen. You must have courage," he said trying to reassure me.

"Look around Pop!" My voice was heated, my brow furrowed. This man lost his wife, his friends, and now he doesn't even care if he'll lose his children. "People are too scared to do anything. If we did rise up we would not be a match to the Capitol. You saw what happened to District 13. It was destroyed, wiped off the map, obliterated. That will happen to 12 and any other district that fights off. We are too weak and we don't have the resources."

"Though we be but little, we are fierce" He said quoting Shakespeare.

"This is not a fairytale!" I said almost hysterical, waving my arms in the air.

He brought his hand to his temple. "Emera, I need you to understand something. Just be silent." He said as I started to speak.

"Emera, you and your brother are special. There are few others like you, maybe one or two more in this district. If given the chance, would you change the way we live?" I nodded.

"Could you, Would you, have a nation similar to those of the old world?" I nodded.

"It takes one person to lead for others to follow. It takes one person to start a movement. I know you are special," he repeated.

"The only reason I'm different from everyone else is because _you made me that way_. You could have taught any other kid," I reasoned with him.

"No that's not how I know you're special," He paused. "The night your mother died I was frustrated. In the heat of the moment I was angry. I felt I had killed my wife with this baby, this son that I had desperately wanted. I came out and saw you holding him you hadn't noticed me yet. I saw the same anger on your face that I felt within me. But then I recognized a change in you as you cradled him"

"You looked over at me and there was a sort of defiance in your face once you read mine. You cradled Robbie in a protective way. I was going to lunge and rip him from your arms, but as I did it hit me that even though you were just as upset as I was you had made a choice. For some reason you didn't know you chose to accept your mother's final wish because you understood that it was for a greater reason worth more than her life."

The tears started swimming down my face. I still remembered, yes, and he was right. I don't know why I wanted to spare Robbie, It was Mother's wish and just like he said having Robbie and his future was something bigger than all of us.

He continued, "Any other child would have been afraid of their father. Especially one that was small like you, and me, a large man. They would have obeyed their instincts and given up the child. But you positioned yourself in a way that told me you were going to die for him, even if you didn't consciously make that choice. You both were like a nut and a shell. If I was going to get to him I would have to get through you first. I stopped myself because I had almost let my selfish wants overcome what is morally right, but you didn't. That, Emera, is how I know you are special".

I said nothing. I understood now and he sensed that I did.

"It's time for you to go. The reaping will be happening soon," He put his hand on my back in a comforting way. I knew I had to be there to be identified and get into the correct age group they would have penned off.

"What about my quote?" I asked.

"Ah yes," he said and instead of saying it to me he scribbled it onto a piece of paper and then folded it, handing it to me.

We blow out the candles and make our way back up into the house. Robbie sits on the stairs in a little blue dress shirt and large khaki pants. His hair is slicked to the side, similar to the pictures we saw of the men of the Great World War II era.

He points at me and throws his hand in a thumbs-up position behind his shoulder, "_Are you leaving?"_ he asks.

"Yes Robbie it's time for me to go now, but you'll be along soon with Pop okay?" I told him and he nodded his head.

Kissing Robbie's forehead I then turn to Pop and give him a dutiful nod which he then returns. I head out the door, the folded paper still in my hand. I sense them watching me and when I get out of view, I unfold the paper but hear someone approaching me quickly and so I shove it into my bra before they'll notice anything, but not before I had the chance to eat up the words.

I referred to my photographic memory and saw the scribbled black ink my father had used:

"History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again." _Maya Angelou._


	3. A Spark

Chapter 3

"Emera!" shouted an all too familiar voice. I turned around to see a boy about four inches taller than me with gray eyes that seemed to be laughing at me. He had a wide triumphant grin on his glowing face.

"Jude you have to work on your tiptoeing skills. I could hear you coming a mile away," I told him, a little annoyed that he was joyful on a day like today. That was Jude though, he could never see the bad side of anything. His best method of coping with days like today is laughing. I knew that if he let himself get freaked out about reality he would shut down. I'm the only one who's ever seen him that way and I don't intend to see him like that again.

"Admit it, I had you a little bit scared," He teased, giving me a weak punch on the arm.

"It's not you that has me nerved up today," I said not returning his punch.

"Why do you always think you'll be picked? How many kids are there in this district? Well let's see there's you, me, Graham, Eric, Rose, Harriet, Lauren, oh and that fat smelly kid that's always chasing after you? You know the blonde one whose parents work with rationing off grain? And then there's-"

"Alright I get it!" I couldn't help but chuckle and gave him a small shove. "Sometimes it's best to prepare for the worst. What are you going to do if you're chosen as tribute?" I questioned him.

"Oh me? Don't worry about me. I'll knock them all dead with my wonderful personality," he responded. I rolled my eyes. I didn't want to think about what would happen if this go-lucky boy were to be in the Hunger Games. Jude was an "all talk" kind of guy. I decided to switch the subject.

"Well at least you've tamed your hair for the cameras and chose an outfit that's suits you," I said. He had his hair parted to the side and patted down a bit. He looked more mature compared to his fluffy-haired, goofy rolled up sleeve look.

"Thank you. You don't look too bad either Sis," he complimented me and twirled me. Sis was his nickname for me because he said that I reminded him of his older sister. Her name was Helena and she had been about six years older than Jude and me. She, like my mother, had also died in childbirth. The baby was stillborn and it happened when Helena was young (it was around the same time as the mining accident because her boyfriend had died in it soon after).

This was the period when Jude had shut down. He didn't talk or play with anybody on the playground. He never laughed. When my mother died he found me at the playground crying on the swings one day. We sat in silence for quite some time. In fact this routine happened for days (the crying not so much just the silence). Until one day I realized that I was going to be okay and that it was Jude who needed my help. I had lost my mother, but at least a part of her lived on in me and my brother. Jude didn't have anything like that. He had a mother yes, but his father had been dead for years and no one knows how he died he just didn't come home one night and was found on the side of a street the next day. This little boy was broken. We started talking and I don't know how things got better, but they did. Slowly I saw the real Jude come out of hiding.

The town square is packed full of children when we finally get there. Jude suddenly doesn't seem so cheerful and I wonder if it's hit him how many times his name has gone into the drawing for tesserae. He tenses up and turns to me with a look that asks for some sort of comfort.

"Like you said," I mumble to him, "There are a lot of people here. You may not get picked."

"Yeah," he chokes. I see him become less stiff.

Jude often came to me for support and I believe that's where our brother-sister relationship stems from. He talks to me about everything and comes to me needing advice. Most of the time I don't know more than what he knows but I do what I can to help him. If I've learned one thing about being friends with Jude it's how to mask my emotions. I'm always afraid of him shutting the world out again.

Take right now for instance, I want to run away and hide and wait for everything to be over with. I can't do that though. I was allowed to be nervous walking into town. Jude was there to joke around and calm me down. When it comes to actually facing the situation I have to be like a rock and show him that I'm ready or else he'll worry.

They took our blood and we found our sections (more like our pens). Deciding it was best not to talk to anybody I stood there in silence. More girls came into my section one of them being my small friend Rose. Her dark brown hair was done in a tight bun on top of her head. Weaving gracefully in between the other girls, she reminded me of the ballerinas I'd seen pictures of in the books I read. She was paler than normal, almost ghost like. A greenish color sat where the red used to rest on her porcelain skinned face. Standing next to me, her five foot tall fragile frame made me out to be a giant. She started quivering and pressed her thin lips together as if she was keeping in a scream.

"You okay?" I whispered to her.

She nodded, staring blankly a head. Then there was silence between us, more than usual. Rose didn't talk much; she was very shy and kind-hearted.

I look around to see if there is anybody else I knew. Harriet appears with Eric and Lauren. She is the kind of girl that nearly all of the boys chased after and she knows it too. At the age of sixteen she is my height and already growing into her womanly figure. Big blue eyes and pouty lips drive them all crazy. Today her dark brown, almost jet black wavy hair is done up halfway. The rest of the waves are allowed to fall down upon her golden tanned shoulders and back. Even on a day like today she can still turn some heads.

Eric and Lauren are brother and sister. Both have golden hair and brilliant blue eyes. Lauren is my other best friend. Her personality is warm and infectious. Like Jude, she loves to bring sunshine into peoples' lives. Sometimes she does it just by smiling her wide toothy smile, other times she simply listens a person in an understanding way. I see her kiss her brother and go take her place next to Harriet, who looms over her by a couple inches.

Eric on the other hand while very charming, is slightly less understanding of people. He's very boisterous about his opinions, but he has a kind heart all the same. He shares his sister's smile which causes him to be quite charming. If ever there was a boy who could talk his way out of a situation it'd be Eric. Today however, he showed no flashy smile. He simply made his way over to where the eighteen year old boys stood and found his place next to Graham.

Graham is a hulking figure who could be compared to the boys of the Career districts. If he were picked to be in the Games I have no doubt in my mind they (the Careers) would try to persuade them to be in their cliquey groups. Graham at least has dignity though. He hangs out in our group of friends but he can be his own independent creature and he would not strike a bargain with and understanding that the person on the other side has an intention to kill him later. His coal black hair is styled in a buzz cut like it is every day. His nostrils seemed to be flared in anticipation and with squinting eyes he stared straight ahead.

_I hope I never have to go up against him._ I thought to myself. I might be able to take him down, but I doubt I'd be able to escape without him doing a number on me.

A few more people that I recognized shuffled in. Gale (the boy Katniss hunts with) strode past and went into the roped off area where Graham and Eric stood. _Poor Jude is by himself._ Jude is a year younger than Eric and Graham and although he has other friend in our class he can't be with his best friends.

I notice Harriet check Gale out. _The one boy she can't have._ I smirk to myself. Many girls follow him around at school like little dogs. It's slightly repulsive and the fact that Harriet obsesses about him causes me even more discomfort. It's slightly humorous sometimes. She prances around in front of him and giggles and bats her long eyelashes yet he doesn't even care. The only part I hate is when she comes storming to Lauren and me to vent. Lauren and I exchange knowing looks. During the venting Lauren nods her head and responds accordingly I simply watch and nod. I've learned from experience not to laugh when Harriet gets in a venting mood, otherwise I become the punching bag. Instead I studied Laurens reactions and do everything she does. Sometimes I get creative and throw in a few amazed gasps. Harriet just needs attention that's all.

I see more people I recognize like Katniss and her little sister Prim, as well as the baker's son, Peeta. Katniss finds a spot in the same place Lauren and Harriet are standing. Eventually I zone out and stop looking for people I know because the thought of them getting picked starts to eat at me. Instead I turn my attention to the cameras and peacekeepers that surrounded the square. _What would happen if we all started to riot right here and now?_

I begin to imagine children making rude signs to the camera and Effie Trinket (who now sits up on the stage styling her pink hair and green suit) falling over in her chair, screaming "OH! Oh!" and laugh to myself. But then the images of guns firing and dead children take over my brain and it all of a sudden doesn't seem so funny. Now turn my attention to the glass balls up on stage and let my mind go blank.

At two the mayor begins to speak about the history of Panem and how the Hunger Games came about. It is the same thing every year. The districts rebelled and lost and now as punishment we have to suffer through these Games and be made a spectacle of. "We are not animals" I remember "We are not a product of what has happened to us in our past. We have the power of choice." But the Capitol knows that if we choose to end its tyranny we would lose. The likelihood of us winning is small. Inside me a monster burns letting to be released but outside I remain as emotionless as a rock.

The mayor reads off the only two winners from District Twelve's past, Haymitch being one of them. He staggers on the stage as drunk as ever. _No wonder nobody ever survives; he's too shitfaced to know what's going on._ After fighting off Haymitch, Effie takes the microphone. _I can't believe he was smart enough to survive the Quarter Quell._

"Happy Hunger Games!" She announces into the microphone with her ridiculous accent, "and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor".

_The odds._ The numbers kept rolling around in my head. But I'm too focused to get carried away by my thoughts. She finished her opening "thank yous" and statements about being grateful for being here today. The reaping's about to start. The crowd is silent but I let myself scream as loud as I can in my mind.

"Ladies first!" She says as she crosses to the glass ball. "Primrose Everdeen".

A murmur picks up. She's only twelve years old; this isn't right. _She's going to die_. I cry to myself. She walks up to the stage, this tiny blond girl is going to die. But then a voice breaks the murmurs.

"Prim!" I see Lauren and Harriet make way for Katniss. "Prim!" She yells again.

"I volunteer!" she gasps. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Nobody volunteers to step in for person whose name has been drawn. _Nobody. _Katniss isn't just anybody she might have a chance. At least she can hunt and survive in that way, and her mother knows how to deal with the sick and injuries so maybe Katniss has picked something up from her.

There's some argument about the protocol of volunteering but she's allowed. Effie is thrilled.

"Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" she grins. We remain silent. We understand. Katniss didn't volunteer for the glory of the games; she volunteered to save her sister because the games are sick. A girl like Prim would be ripped apart by a maniac who is trained to kill. This whole thing is wrong.

For some reason I look over to see where my father is standing with my brother. Even Robbie seems upset. And then my father does something remarkable. He touches his three middle fingers of his left hand to his lips and holds them up to Katniss. A few more follow and before I know it I'm doing it too. _Goodbye Katniss, you won't be forgotten._

Haymitch starts going off about how Katniss has more spunk than the rest of "us" but he says it as he points at a camera. He falls of the stage and catches the cameramen's attention.

Effie hastily picks a boy's name and it turns out to be the baker's son, Peeta. The anthem plays and then they're taken inside. I look over at my father and try to read his face. There's something different about it. A certain spark is in his eyes. _He thinks she's going to start the rebellion. Katniss Everdeen is going to light a fire._


	4. Playtime is Over

Chapter 4

The reaping is over and children find their families. I hear the sighs of relief all around me, but still there is a different atmosphere than at the usual reapings. My mind starts racing back towards how improbable this whole situation feels.

"That was brave of Katniss," Lauren is next to me. I hadn't seen her walk up to me. I was still in my roped off area that a few people were now taking down.

"Huh? Yeah it was," I agreed a little lost in thought. Again I pushed back my thoughts. It's not just Lauren that's found me but my whole group of friends.

"I wonder how Gale is taking it?" Harriet looks sympathetically over at him. I see him talking to the mayor and a peacekeeper. He must be trying to go in and say his final goodbyes to Katniss. To be honest I hadn't even thought about it. I looked around but Prim and her mother are nowhere to be seen. They must already be inside.

"I guess we'll find out tonight who she's up against," Eric says.

"What about Peeta?" Jude asks. We all look at him. We hadn't really thought about Peeta. He was a nice guy, very friendly to everyone. Jude knows him better than we do because he used eat with him during his lunch break at school. I can't imagine Peeta killing anybody and suddenly I get a gut wrenching feeling that he's not going to last long.

Katniss is different, she's strong. She'll be able to last long enough to make an impression. It's also true that she doesn't even know Peeta very well, or really anybody else so it'll be easier for her to distance herself from him. I'm not saying that she'll be able to shoot an arrow at him without a second thought, I'm just saying it wouldn't affect her as much if he died in the arena than it would if Gale had been chosen as tribute.

"I'd better be getting back home to Pop and Robbie," I said, making an excuse to leave.

"Yeah I'll join you," Jude said. We left together just as we came together. Jude's house is on a road that's only a little farther down the main dirt road than mine.

We walked together in silence. Jude can see I'm mulling something over in my head and so he doesn't say anything. We get to where the road I live on splits off of the main street. We exchange goodbyes and I make my way to the small house.

Inside Pop is cooking a rabbit I had caught earlier (Katniss isn't the only one who goes into the woods to hunt) and Robbie sits at the table, still in his reaping clothes and looking just as puzzled as I am. Pop, however, carries a different attitude. I've never seen him in such a state. He has a nervous energy about him, not the drained, exhausted one he usually has after the ceremonies. I want to talk to him and ask him if he feels this year will be the year, but I don't, not when Robbie is around.

I decide to talk to him after they'll show the other tributes.

We eat dinner in the living room and watch silently as they show the other tributes being chosen. A few stick out to me in particular. The career boy from District 2, Cato I think his name is, he's big and there's an unnerving confidence about him, like he can't wait to start killing. The red headed girl from District 5 has an intelligent air about her, she looks crafty. The large boy from District 11 also could be a threat. Pop's face is as emotionless as a rock; completely unreadable. I can't see if there are traces of doubt or not. _I'll save it for the talk._ I decide.

When it's all over I help Robbie get ready for bed. He still seems troubled. For someone so young he sees and understands quite a bit. This year the Games will be different.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" I ask him as I tuck him into bed. He shakes his head, _No_.

I let out a sigh and kiss him on the forehead. "Goodnight Robbie. I love you."

He grabs my hand and stares into my eyes with a ferocious intensity. I draw back a little. His gaze softens slightly and he places one hand over my heart. With the other he kisses and rests on my cheek. _Safe. _He's glad I wasn't picked.

I nod in understanding.

"Don't worry bud," I say to him, "even if I'm to be picked next year I will always make my way back to you. You and me, we're a team. Right?"

A small closed grin creeps its way onto his face and he reaches out to hug me. I hug him back and wish him goodnight.

I make my way back to the living room where Pop is again watching the tributes being chosen and listening to the commentary of the host.

"Pop," I say in a tone that implies _we need to talk._

He looks over at me and nods in understanding. He turns the TV off and lowers the lights.

We find ourselves for the second time today in the secret room.

"This is it isn't it?" I asked. "You think she's the one who'll make it happen?"

He's quiet for a second, "Yes," he finally says.

"Do you think she'll make it?" I ask uncertain, "I mean, you saw those Careers and a few other tributes."

"She's a fighter and she certainly doesn't like to play by anybody's rules," He straightened up, "She'll win. But the Capitol won't like it. They won't like it because she'll be the one to beat their odds."

I didn't say anything. I know what he is thinking. There is a small percentage that Katniss Everdeen will come out of the Hunger Games alive and if she does, well, then there's a huge chance that Panem will snap because she symbolizes what we can accomplish if we fight for our right to live. I feel chills run down my spine.

"Emera, I suggest you get some sleep. Training will be intensified tomorrow," He turned his back on me and I left without saying a word. Play time is over; it's time I prepare for war.


	5. Common Sense

Chapter 5

The sun is barely coming up and already I've run four miles. I breathe easy. It's about 5:15 in the morning and most of District 12 is sleeping, or inside their houses with the curtains drawn. _Six more miles to go. _I keep my pace at an easy nine minute mile run; I don't want to be too tired for whatever Pop has planned for me after. I don't mind running it gives me time to think, I think I'm the only one in District 12 that does it. Many are too starved and need to conserve their energy. Thankfully Pop has showed Robbie and me that we need to push our bodies sometimes when we're starving (we don't do so much cardio as we do exercises to work on our reflexes) just so we can be ready for the Games if ever we need to do that. Of course we do eat but there have been times when food is scarcer than normal so it's painful.

When I get back Robbie is awake and ready to go. He's breathing a little heavily and then I notice the rope he has in his hand. _Jump-rope. _What I like about running is that I feel like I'm moving somewhere and getting in the miles. I hate being stationary and I hate it whenever Pop made me do jump-rope I would fight him until he would take away my pleasure reading privileges. I only need to do it every now and then at this age, but from the look on Robbie's face I can see he hates it too. He's too young to run with me or by himself though.

"Alright you two, you've worked on your endurance, now it's time for core," Pop announces. I let out a little groan.

Robbie and I both received the same exercises and reps but I had to do about three times as many sets. The last few sets I received instructions to add weights to my limbs to challenge me that much more. By eight o'clock my core feels like somebody took a knife and just shredded my muscles.

When our workout is complete we head up the stairs where Pop has prepared for us the leftover rabbit from the night before. I eat it quickly realizing that I need to be at the store by 9:00.

I work at the only bookstore in the district. It's not hard to guess that we don't receive many customers, mostly the higher end crowd. The mayor and his family, for example, are some of our better customers.

I clean up the best I can and head into town. Every year when the Games are happening, the place seems quieter than a graveyard. People still go on with their day to day business of course, but there is hardly any laughing; only silence shared in mutual understanding.

The shop is very small and located just off the square. Outside the paint has nearly pealed and nailed above the doorway is a sign so worn and old that it's barely legible and would cause a passerby to squint and then they would eventually find it to say, "Elfred's Books".

A creak let out as I opened the door. The inside of the store isn't much prettier than the outside. The floor boards are so old that they let out large groans even with the lightest of tread. There are shelves that line the walls, although many of them are bare. A balcony to the second floor can be seen right from the doorway. Underneath it, right in the middle of the store is the checkout desk with the cash register. Behind the desk it's closed off to customers and a doorway covered in a moth eaten, deep purple curtain leads the way to the back room that used to be used to store books but is now used for old furniture and odd things. In this room can be found the metal spiral ladder goes up to the second floor. The second floor only contains Mr. Elfred Houghner's apartment and office.

At the sound of my entering the store the old man himself appeared from behind the curtain. He's one of the few elders in the town and many people respect him for it, even if he can be grumpy towards most people (well at least people my age). He's getting on though, with his hunched shoulders and shaking hands he can hardly put away books on the shelves. It makes me nervous that he has to climb the spiral ladder everyday just to get to bed.

"Hello Emera," he said in a tired voice. He looked at me with his sad gray eyes. I've never been able to tell if it's because something happened to him in the past or if he's just upset to see so much death every year. This year seemed to be wearing on him more just like everyone else in town.

"I don't think you'll need to work this year during the Games," he sighed, "You know how it is."

He's right. We never get anybody in the store during the Hunger Games, in the past I may have worked at the most five hours total during the entire ceremonies. It's usually after when magazines from the Capitol come in that the more well-to-do like to come in and see what "really" happened during the events.

"I don't have enough to pay you this week," he said, running his fingers through his white hair. He, in a way, looks similar to Einstein or Mark Twain.

"That's fine Mr. Houghner, is it okay if I take a few books instead?" I asked and he nodded. It's not the first time I've done it. In fact it's how I started working for him. When I was about seven I used to come into the store and ask if I could "borrow books". Elfred Houghner was not a very nice man then to children and still isn't but he's warmed up to me now. Anyway he said the only way I could borrow a book was if I offered him something valuable of mine in exchange. I fretted that he would sell it and he said it was more for insurance sakes; he wanted me to take good care of his books and return them in the same condition I borrowed them in, and he would then return my item to me.

The only thing I had of value was my horse necklace. He accepted it and I was allowed to borrow one book. I kept my end of the deal and so did he and we practiced it for a few weeks.

He finally asked me one day, "This is a very pretty necklace. Where did you get it?"

"My Pop made it for me," I answered sheepishly as I eyed the necklace he was holding.

He looked up at me, "It must be worth quite a bit to you. You trust me enough to think I won't sell it?" he was surprised.

"It's all I have, and you said I need to give you something that was valuable of mine," I started to get nervous.

"Yes but if I had told that to any other child they would have not gone along with the deal or given me something that probably wasn't even theirs to begin with," he started to eye me carefully and I said nothing. I was still watching my necklace which was laced between his fingers.

"The books you've checked out too… They're not normal books for someone at your age level to be reading. What I mean is they're far more advanced. Most children of your age love to come in here and get the most colorful book they can find. But just last week you borrowed Mark Twain's _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_. That is literature far beyond any seven year old's comprehension level," I remember he seemed to be very suspicious of me.

"Pop thinks it's important for me to have a high reading level so that I can do well in school," I stammered as I looked at my feet. I think Mr. Houghner knew that I was lying, or hiding something and I remember growing hot with anxiety.

He paused and looked at me. He seemed to be turning something over in his mind and then he finally said, "Well whatever your reason is, you seem to have a high appreciation for literature. I'll tell you what, I'm going to make you another deal."

I glanced up from my shoes to see if he was serious.

"I'll let you keep your necklace, and you can continue to borrow and return books if you work for me," I nodded in excitement.

He continued, "Now this job won't be easy. You'll have to organize the books, price them, clean them, and out back I will show you how to mend books. I also want you to have a great understanding of what you are selling (Hence the allowing you to borrow the books part). You've already started to make a dent in my collection. I hope that you will continue to do so."

And so ever since then I've worked for him. The deal is a little different now. He pays me sometimes, but if I really like a book I'm allowed to keep it and go without pay. This week he's allowing me to pick a book out to keep and bring home because he doesn't have any money for me.

He doesn't mind Robbie either. He says it's a blessing the boy is quiet and doesn't run around all crazy like other four to five year olds do. So sometimes after school or during the breaks Robbie will come to work with me and he'll just read quietly in a corner.

I walked around the store while examining the many books I had already read and the so few left to read. None of the unread books seem to fit my mood. I felt anxious and I needed facts right now and not a fiction piece to escape to.

Across the room, standing at the checkout desk, Mr. Houghner was eying me closely, "Emera," he spoke up. I turned around to him.

"Yes?" I asked.

"I've noticed your reading choices for a while now, and although you mix up the genre now and then you tend to pick books that have, shall we say, some weight to them?" I think he meant I picked books that weren't just fluff books, but had a greater meaning to them.

"Yes, sometimes I want more than just entertainment," I explained.

"I see," He drummed the counter with his bony fingers and thought silently to himself.

I turned around and kept searching. I like Scott Fitzgerald and Mary Shelley as well as Charles Dickens. John Knowles is pretty good too but I'm not so much in the mood for them right now.

"Emera," Mr. Houghner piped up again. "I believe I have a special book for you."

I looked over at him and eyed him carefully.

"Follow me please," and he brought me out back. Inside there were stacks of plywood boxes, most of them empty, and all used to have many books in them. We wove through the columns of stacked boxes and we came to the back of the room. He started stomping his foot around the floor boards until he heard the right squeak he was looking for.

He slowly brought himself down onto his knees. One of the floor boards had been slightly shifted when he had stomped on it. It would have been imperceptible to anyone else whose eyes were not trained to see things like that like mine are. He slowly lowered himself to the ground and pried up this floorboard. Underneath it was one small book wrapped in cloth and tied with a leather strap.

He handed me the parcel and put his finger to his lips.

"Don't tell anyone you got this from me. Keep it a secret," He urged. "Do not open it until you're in a secure location. They were almost all of them destroyed but this one survived and if the Capitol were to find out, we'll all be killed."

I lit several candles in the secret room in our basement. Pop was at work in the mines and Robbie was still over to Jude's house (his mother watches over Robbie sometimes). I took a few deep breaths and glanced nervously over my shoulders. _Silly there's no one here. _I couldn't help be a little bit paranoid. Mr. Houghner's warning kept replaying itself over and over in my mind.

I stared at the book and then I couldn't stand it any longer. What kind of book would be destroyed by the Capitol? _I wonder if it's a religious book like what Pop has been reading?_ The leather knot easily came undone. I slid the cloth away and suddenly understood the warning in Houghner's eyes. The cover of the book read, "Common Sense" and it was written by Thomas Payne. The old history books that father keeps mentioned this. It's what spurred the people of this land long ago to fight against their "government".

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. Mr. Houghner must not have known the sort of other books that Pop has stumbled across the years or that have been passed down from generation to generation. However this is not to say that the old man's warning should be taken lightly. He's right. If the Capitol knew that I had this book in my possession I'd be dead. Anything that promotes that a people should overthrow its government if it's not fit to do its job is a threat.

I sat down and read it all before Pop or Robby returned home. After all, the book is more of a pamphlet anyways. I placed it in a bin where a few of our more precious books are hidden and decided I would tell Pop about it when he came home.

When they did get home and I mentioned it to Pop I couldn't help but notice the more up-beat mood that had washed over him.

"I always wondered if that grumpy old coot had it in him and I guess I was right!" he chuckled to himself and then continued, "Of course I was right. I shouldn't have doubted myself, why the kind of books he sold! It's amazing the Peace Keepers haven't locked him up yet. Of course they probably are too foolish to see the sort of messages that lie within those stories. 'Frankenstein is just a horror story' my ass!" and he laughed even more.

We had some bread and dandelion greens for dinner. Tonight there'd be no history lesson after dinner; only more training.

Robby was fired up and ready to go by the time dinner was over (he had had a nap at Jude's house). I on the other hand felt like sleeping would be a better plan.

The first thing we worked on was a routine involving jackets. I learned it at Robby's age so Pop used me as a demonstration. If ever there was a case where somebody grabbed us and our jacket was unzipped we had to know how to use it as a weapon (cool right?). So we worked on twisting it and untwisting in it, using it as a rope, and so on. Robby thoroughly enjoyed it and caught on quickly. Soon he had me tied up and on the ground. It was kind of like dancing and being twirled around only we now knew how to use our clothing as weapons. It's not like it's a big deal or anything.

Robby went to bed afterward but I had to stay a bit longer. We practiced with long objects like bats, sticks, and even weapons meant to be shaped like guns. I had to kick them up from the ground and catch them I had to wield them and protect myself. I had to be offense and then defensive. After that we switched over to the more awkward objects like benches shaped like saw horses or umbrellas. It was kind of fun being shown how to twirl around a bench and knocking a sword or a stick out of my Pop's hands. It was almost theatrical. The umbrella is great because it can be used as a weapon or to hook onto other objects like an extended limb. We carried on a bit later than usual.

Finally Pop let me go to bed.

"Tomorrow I want you to take Robby out to the woods and show him how to set traps. I also want you guys to practice climbing and jumping from heights. Practice landing and grabbing onto the limbs like I've demonstrated in here. You must be sure there is no one else around, we can only do so much acrobatic work in this small room," he was serious. This would be a huge day for Robby. He's never been to the woods.

I crawled into bed that night aching limbs and all. I was nearly asleep when one thought caused my eyes to shoot wide open.

_The woods. We might see Gale. Great._


	6. And So it Begins

Chapter 6

It's not that I have anything against Gale, it's just every time I see him I think back to this one memory.

Pop told me to be friends with the kids like Gale and Katniss so that I could learn from them how to hunt and set traps and basically understand the ways of the forest. This was a great plan except for the fact that Gale and Katniss weren't the kind of people who liked to share their secrets.

I understood what to eat and what not to eat in the forest because I got a chance to study Katniss's father's book one time (like I said before he and my Pop were friends). When I was older I needed to learn how to trap animals. I tried trailing after Gale (before he and Katniss were friends) and I would study his traps after he set them. He got the feeling he was being followed one day and as I observed his cunning trap for a rabbit he snuck up behind me.

"What do you think you're doing?" he was infuriated.

"I-I want to learn how to-to uh hunt. I need to know how to ca-catch animals," I stammered. The look on his face told me he didn't believe me.

"Get out of here! You just want to know where my traps are so you can reap them yourself," He was quite angry.

"N-No! Really, I need to know," I was quite nervous.

"No you don't, you're well off," He was right in a way. Pop's skill did bring in good trade at the Hobb. I did look suspicious too; always sneaking after him and checking out his work. I also think I caught him on a bad day because he wasn't usually like this plus he probably felt like I was also invading his alone time.

"If you could just teach me I would leave you alone!" I protested.

"I think you should leave, now," the look in his eyes told me he wasn't joking.

So I messed up my chances with Gale. With Katniss he's different. He seems to get her and she after all had a legitimate reason to be in the woods.

All and all I still respect him. I don't think he's ever told anyone about our meeting in the forest.

After some more training I worked on my graceful skills. I could climb trees almost noiselessly and tread ground lighter than an ant. So as creepy as it was and still is sometimes I would spy on Katniss and Gale. I would watch their trap setting methods and I would see how she would aim and shoot with her arrow. She made it look so effortless, but my bow and arrow skills are not nearly up to the same level as hers are. They can get me by, but I'll be lucky if I can hit a deer in the eye. I'm more dangerous up close and my skills are specialized in how resourceful I can be.

Anyway as soon as I would see what I would want to see I would wait for them to move on and then I'd head off in the complete opposite direction and practice setting traps or shooting arrows.

Today Robby and I are going to check traps and work on our acrobatic skills.

We snuck out early around five a.m. and headed to the edge of town where there's a spot to get under the fence. At this point I understood where about Katniss and Gale always hunted and so I stayed clear of their territory and headed in a different direction.

Robby kept making signs at me. _"When are we going to get there?", "Why can't we stop here?", "Do the animals suffer when they're trapped?", "Have you ever come to a trap and have found the animal still alive?"_

"We'll get there soon.", "We can't stop because we're still too close to the fence", "Sometimes, I try to make the traps as humanely as possible though, so most of the time they die instantly". "Yes, when I first started I didn't set it right and there was a rabbit that was badly hurt when I came out to check the traps". I answered every single one of his questions. The last question was the hardest to give an answer to. It made me so sick that day I found the rabbit, the poor thing was suffering and so I just took a knife to it to quicken its death.

He stopped "talking" after that last answer and we made our way in silence. We eventually made our way into the deeper part of the forest. Luckily it was early enough so that the bugs weren't so thick yet but as a precautionary I packed some insect repellent that we make ourselves. Aside from showing Robby the traps, I'm going to point out the plants that we use to make our repellent too.

"Okay it's still a little early to check the traps so we're going to practice a few things that Pop has showed us," I looked around and there were plenty of strong trees for us to swing on and climb up. The ground was soft and mossy so it wouldn't hurt as much if we fell too.

We started off by warming up a bit and then stretching. We then started doing a few easier stunts such as no-handed flips. These were some of the stunts we could practice inside of the secret room. Robby did them all with ease. He looked at me in an unimpressive way.

"Alright, we'll move on. I'm going to show you how to climb a tree almost noiselessly. After you master that we'll practice running up the tree and flipping off backwards. We've done that before but we've used the walls, these trees are uneven and much skinnier than a wall," I explained. He nodded at me in understanding and then did a little rolling motion with his hand as if to say "carry on" or "get on with it".

So I demonstrated crawling up a tree and grabbing onto its limbs and easing myself up like a pull up. I also showed him how to get a running start as if he was being chased so that he could make his way up the trunk faster. It took him a few tries with it but he learned it quite quickly (keep in mind he is quite young). The running up the tree part was the hardest for him.

Once I saw that he could master running up the tree I decided to move onto the flipping of backwards part. He quite enjoyed this. I however started to get nervous for him. He knew pretty much all of the steps because he'd done it before at home.

When it was his turn to do it I stood by ready to catch him but he did fine. He couldn't stick the landing and instead he would roll out of it. He wanted to practice it more but I could tell he was quite tired so we took a small break and ate some bread I had packed for breakfast.

I practiced some more while he rested. I started to do different tricks that Pop showed me before he lost his leg. I would run up the side of the tree grasp a branch and fling my legs over the side and then scamper back down. I would then do this to several limbs and make my way up the tree, dodging and ducking as if I was being chased, and all the while trying to keep the branches as still as possible and attempting to keep as much as my weight in the air as possible. I could feel Robby watching me, wanting to do these stunts in the worse way. He's not ready yet, but it's good that he's watching me now because it will help him in the future if he can picture what needs to be done.

I then started tree hopping. Robby quite enjoyed this and soon my task of practicing felt more fun than a chore. I would leap across to another tree and Robby would clap if I could do it without moving the tree much.

I came to a tree that was about twelve feet away. I've always been nervous about jumping over to the other limb but for some reason today felt like the day to do it and besides my little brother was watching me I can't back down.

The limb of my tree wasn't too long and so I crept out as far as I could before I felt it begin to really give. I wobbled a bit. One thing I've learned all these years is how to perfect my balance, Robby will too in time once he gets used to jumping on these trees.

I backed up and took notice of the spot where I had to jump. With all my might I took a few steps on the limb and then pressed off as hard as I could. I pressed off a little too hard and overshot it as I came crashing into the next tree. The upper branches of the tree smacked and scratched my face as I landed on the branch I needed to land on. My foot slipped slightly and I caught a hold of the other branches. I guess I didn't need to worry about making the distance.

From down below I heard Robby's laughter. I couldn't help but grin myself. I must have looked foolish smashing through the tree like that. I swung down through the limbs with ease and jumped down the last bit which was only about eight feet high.

"Yeah, yeah okay. Let's go check those traps now," I said while tousling his hair. We hit up all of our spots. We found a couple of rabbits and squirrels that had been caught. He caught on quickly how to set the traps. His nimble little fingers can tie knots and ropes better than me. I told him that just setting the traps wasn't good enough; location was another key to being successful as well.

Like an eagle his eyes see everything. He noticed the bunny trails and poops in the forest (a sign of high traffic). He took notice of where the water sources are and the kind of food our prey likes to eat. After seeing how quickly he understood the nature of catching these animals I decided to let him pick the next spots of where to set the traps.

The bugs started to come out and we used our homemade bug repellent. We wiped on the oily mixture and I took this moment to point out all of the different plants we used.

"If ever you're caught in a moment where the bugs are after you here's what you use to make it," He had seen the plants before because I'd brought them back to the house. We picked some more and made our way back.

We hid the game in a bag that was a little less conspicuous than Katniss's. Unlike her and Gale, people didn't know that my family snuck off into the woods too. Pop said we mustn't let others know either in case the rules around here ever changed (we'd be less likely to be targeted).

The effects of the previous days' workouts and today's adventures started to wear on me. Robby moved a little stiffly too. Like old men we hobbled back slowly to the fence. There we snuck back underneath and went back home.

The rest of this week continued in this same fashion. Meanwhile Pop was getting more and more riled up at the reports about Katniss. Her score of 11 was shocking, even to me. I knew she was good with an arrow but I wondered what else she could have done to impress the gamemakers.

Her interview was a little sickening to watch though. For those who knew her it was a little disgusting seeing her twirl around like a little kid.

"She's doing what she needs to do to get sponsors," I snorted.

"She's doing everything right," Pop said. "But I don't think she's doing enough."

And then came Peeta's interview. He was quite charming, he was always that way in school but it's different to see him on the camera. The audience loved and ate up everything he said, but then came the bomb.

Caesar started to joke around and asked if Peeta had a girlfriend, "Handsome Lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

To which Peeta responded, "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

They went on about how she might have someone already and Caesar mentioned that if he won and went back it'd be hard for her to say no. That's when Peeta broke the news.

"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning… won't help in my case," he said.

Ceasar seemed confused.

"Because… because… she came here with me."

My father and I both stood up from the couch at his statement.

_Where did that come from?_ I know I'd seen him glance at her a few times but I didn't know he like her, I didn't know anybody felt that way about her except for maybe Gale, but even their relationship is complicated.

I looked over at my father and his eyes were as bright as I ever saw them. He almost looked mad, as he stood there rubbing his jaw and analyzing the camera shots that were alternating between Katniss, Peeta, and a sympathizing Capitol audience.

"Genius," he whispered.

_So this is going to be like Romeo and Juliet. The lovers need to die to prove that this is wrong… Classic. _

"Let the Games begin," I whispered.

My father turned his head slowly around to face me, "They already have."


End file.
